5 ~ Gate Of Hell

Brinda

I found myself standing before a massive mansion, towering like the haunted memories of the high-profile targets I had once eliminated without a second thought.

The gates creaked open, and there they were — three men in black suits. They were the same faces that had allowed me to lose everything just days before.

My fists clenched at my sides, desperate for a reason, any reason, to strangle them where they stood.

But I swallowed my rage, knowing there were bigger stakes at play now.

As I was ushered into the mansion, everything around me was unnervingly still. The air was thick with tension, every step echoing in the silent space.

Then, out of the quiet, Francesco’s voice sliced through the room, sending an icy jolt down my spine.

“Non ci vediamo da un po’.” Long time no see.

I froze.

Blood drained from my face, leaving nothing but a cold, burning emptiness that settled deep within my soul.

My legs gave way, my chest constricting, every breath a struggle against the rising panic that threatened to consume me.

I staggered backward, clenching my fists against the sharp ache in my lungs, unable to scream, my body betraying me as I sank to my knees.

And there, just feet away from me — was my mother. Her body lay still, lifeless, cold.

Francesco stood beside her, hands casually tucked in his pockets, exuding arrogance that bordered on insanity.

He stood there like a god, looking down on my suffering with the same detachment he had shown countless others before me.

I let out a gut-wrenching wail, the sound raw, full of anguish. “Mom!” The word tore through me as I cradled her body, my fingers trembling as I removed the cotton from her ears and nose and hurled it away.

“Why?”

Francesco’s smile was wicked, cruel, as he took a slow, deliberate step closer. His eyes glinted with a sadistic delight. “Isn’t that the best surprise ever?” His voice dripped with mockery. “Perhaps the greatest of your life. And don’t get too comfortable… There’s more coming. Every hour, maybe.”

I glared up at him, shaking with fury. “How dare you, Francesco?” My voice cracked, barely able to contain the storm within me. “You’ve taken my love from me. You took him. Now... you take her?”

His smile only deepened, a cruel twist of amusement playing on his lips. “They had to go. No hard work without sacrifice, right? I never thought I would see you cry like this. After all, you’ve taken the same toll on others. What do you think happened to the families of those you killed, Brinda?” He let the words sink in, cold as ice. “This... is karma.”

A wave of disgust rolled through me, but I said nothing. I could barely look at him, my chest tightening with grief and helpless rage.

“Anyway…” He waved a hand dismissively. “No time to waste. We have work to do. You and I.” He paused for a moment, clearly savoring my pain. “I know what you can do, but I have the solutions to all your problems.” He raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider.

I stood up shakily, still clutching my mother’s body, refusing to let them take her from me. But Francesco was already making his next move. “Damsel, I’m the leader of the Dante family — Mafia. We control the hardest drugs in the market. But it’s not just that. There are bigger things in play, and guess who I think can solve them?” He leaned back, puffing a cigarette with an almost smug satisfaction.

I locked eyes with him, my heart pounding in my ears. “No, Francesco. You’re wrong. I’m not your solution.”

But before I could say more, he barked out an order. “Time’s up. Guards, remove the body.”

The men closed in on me, and I fought them with everything I had. But my body was weak, my spirit drained by the grief, and I could barely hold myself upright. I wanted to fight, to tear them apart, but I was powerless.

Helplessly, I watched my mother’s body being dragged away, out of my reach, disappearing into the darkness beyond the door.

A roar of fury erupted from deep within me. I darted for the table, grabbing the knife that lay in front of Francesco.

With everything I had left, I lunged at him. But he was faster. His hand shot out, grabbing mine, and before I knew it, a sickening crack echoed in my skull.

I crumpled to the floor, unable to keep my eyes open, my body limp. A primal scream tore through me as I succumbed to the blackness closing in.

Some time later — minutes? Hours? — I awoke to the sound of slow, mocking applause. My hand instinctively went to my head, where the pain throbbed like a pulse, steady and unforgiving.

The room was dimly lit, and I could see Francesco standing there, a wicked smirk twisting his features.

“Welcome back!” His voice was taunting, like a predator savoring its catch. “Hope the journey wasn’t too stressful.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it — just a cold cruelty.

I shot to my feet, rage and desperation fueling me. “Do you think this is a joke?” My voice cracked, my throat raw with emotion, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“Do you?” He cocked his head, his smile never faltering. “I’m not here for games, Brinda. I’m here for business.”

He walked toward me, a glass of water in one hand, a tablet in the other. “Take this,” he demanded, his voice cold, authoritative.

I recoiled, pushing the glass away, my body shaking with anger. “Stop! Stop whatever you’re doing!” I struggled to stand, to escape him, but the weakness from earlier had returned. I couldn’t move fast enough.

He shook his head, exhaling a long, patient breath. Then, with deliberate slowness, he reached for a small black bottle from the table. “I thought you’d prefer the gentle way. Guess I was wrong.”

His words cut through me like a knife. He crouched down in front of me, cupping my chin with his cold, cruel hands. His fingers dug into my skin, forcing my mouth open, and I gasped in horror as he tilted the bottle.

The liquid slid down my throat, burning, choking. My body convulsed in protest, but I couldn’t stop him. The poison — Deadly Nightshade. I had used it before. And now I was forced to take it.

A year to live.

His smirk deepened as he let go of me, watching with sadistic pleasure as I gagged, my hands flying to my mouth.

Tears stung my eyes. The bitter, metallic taste of death filled my mouth, and I could do nothing but cry. My vision blurred as the poison coursed through me, but I couldn’t let go of my rage.

Francesco’s voice was low, almost gentle, as he spoke the words that felt like a death sentence. “Sometimes, the person you once loved may end up killing you,” he said, the twisted satisfaction in his voice unmistakable.

“The epic love story that never really was,” I whispered, my voice thick with tears and grief.

He laughed, cruel and triumphant. “I have no comfort to offer you. Your little prank is over. The real game begins now.”

“I still won’t work for you,” I managed to say, my voice barely audible. “I would rather die.”

Francesco’s eyes gleamed with something darker. “Success is the key when you have a willful mindset. I know you have hope in you, Brinda. Don’t lie to yourself.”

“No,” I whispered weakly, but even as the words left my lips, doubt gnawed at me. I didn’t want to die.

“Welcome to the gate of hell,” he murmured, his grin widening. He poured whiskey into a glass, savoring the slow, deliberate motion. He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip, eyes never leaving mine.

“And I’ll be the one to usher you in — by the devil’s grace.” My words hung heavy in the air, thick with finality.

The clock ticked loudly in the silence, each second pressing closer to the doom awaiting us both.

But deep inside, a spark flickered — small, fragile, but undeniably there.

The game wasn’t over.

And Francesco would regret every moment of it.